I was pregnant again, if I keep getting pregnant at this rate I am going to lose track. Some women talk about how much they love being pregnant they glow and it is a miracle growing inside them. My name is Cassidia and I am one of those women. I am one of those women because we are all one of those women. We are expected to love every second of it. I do not love every second of it. The nausea horrible my feet being swollen horrible. I am not living for even a second of it. But I am being made to live through every second of it. I was headed to the church of fertility a tradition after every new confirmed pregnancy is to travel to the church for a blessing. I was just excited for the chance to get outside of the house. Sure the smell of the dear pulling the carriage bringing me and the other women there only heightened my nausea but that was a small price to pay to feel like a normal person for a little while and get to move out and about without constantly being monitored for the health of my baby. The brief moment of fresh air in between the carriage and the church was wonderful. It was too short as instantly I was back inside and in a stuffy church to boot. I sat through the blessings of the other women. I sang the songs. I listened to the words of the minister. I sat and I waited for my turn to get lake water sprinkled on my stomach as words were said over it. I shuffled my and I kicked something slightly. I looked down. And sitting there was a handmade doll. I picked it up and held it in my hands taking in the care that was put into every stitch. For a brief second I let myself think about my children and about the child I was about to have. They were mine but they never would really be mine. That was worse than all of the annoying parts of being pregnant. Than the doors slammed open and a man stood there, wild eyed and angry. Fire was in those wild eyes and fire was in the torch he held.
My name is Abel and I was angry. I was angry at the world and I was gonna burn it down with me. After narrowly escaping my sacrifice to Lucky I was lucky. I met the psychics and they graciously took me in. I sat in there sacred place with them trying to learn from them. I sat in silence disconnected from everyone around me. I went to Elan’s Education center to learn from him. He taught me facts and history but not what I wanted to learn. I wanted to be what the people I lived with were. I wanted to be able to commune with them. And I could not and Elan could not teach me that. The psychics would not teach me that. The only home I could remember belonging in was one I knew I could never return to. I was infertile and thus sent away to join the artisans but before I could even join their ranks I was kidnap for sacrifice. The fire leapt at my hands the makeshift torch I held getting closer and closer to going out. If I was going to do what I came here to do it had to be now. I ripped down the curtains to me left and in one fluid movement they were on fire and as I danced around the room lighting everything I could up before I finally saw all of the people staring at me. I heard them screaming as the priests were ushering them out of the room. I had not come to kill and yet here I was if they did not get out safe than there would be blood on my hands. This was supposed to be a symbolic act of rebellion not an act of terrorism. Now that I think about it though it was definitely going to be terrorism no matter what. I still did not mean to kill anyone though.
Everyone was rushing out of the doors in the back, but I could not move. He was standing there at the end of my pew staring. I was frozen but so was he. His expression had shifted from one of anger to welling up with fear. Should I be more afraid of a fearful man with flames rippling around him than I was afraid of him when he was angry. Than he turned and he looked at me. He was confused probably and I was definitely. He looked almost sorry like he was a terrorist so I do not want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he is standing here with his hand outstretched and it is getting really hot in here. So I took his hand and ever so trepidatiously but definitely quickly followed him back through the giant doors he came in. They were heavy but through the smoke and heat and my watering eyes we got the doors open again. I stood on the side of the street coughing, but honestly stood is generous I was hauled over wheezing wishing I just stayed in the fire and died. He was gone. I do not know why he saved me but he did and now he was gone and the smoke would never leave my lungs again. They found me there wheezing. They took me home and had every doctor under the sun check me out. The baby was fine and I was fine. I was still coughing for weeks but that's what they told me that I was fine. The church burnt but it did not burn down so it was up and running again soon. I never wanted to go back there again but I knew I would be back as soon as I was pregnant again.
I was headed to the church of fertility a tradition after every new confirmed pregnancy is to travel to the church for a blessing. I was just excited for the chance to get outside of the house. Sure the smell of the dear pulling the carriage bringing me and the other women there only heightened my nausea but that was a small price to pay to feel like a normal person for a little while and get to move out and about without constantly being monitored for the health of my baby.
The brief moment of fresh air in between the carriage and the church was wonderful. It was too short as instantly I was back inside and in a stuffy church to boot. I sat through the blessings of the other women. I sang the songs. I listened to the words of the minister. I sat and I waited for my turn to get lake water sprinkled on my stomach as words were said over it.
I shuffled my and I kicked something slightly. I looked down. And sitting there was a handmade doll. I picked it up and held it in my hands taking in the care that was put into every stitch. For a brief second I let myself think about my children and about the child I was about to have. They were mine but they never would really be mine. That was worse than all of the annoying parts of being pregnant.
Than the doors slammed open and a man stood there, wild eyed and angry. Fire was in those wild eyes and fire was in the torch he held.
My name is Abel and I was angry. I was angry at the world and I was gonna burn it down with me. After narrowly escaping my sacrifice to Lucky I was lucky. I met the psychics and they graciously took me in. I sat in there sacred place with them trying to learn from them. I sat in silence disconnected from everyone around me.
I went to Elan’s Education center to learn from him. He taught me facts and history but not what I wanted to learn. I wanted to be what the people I lived with were. I wanted to be able to commune with them. And I could not and Elan could not teach me that. The psychics would not teach me that.
The only home I could remember belonging in was one I knew I could never return to. I was infertile and thus sent away to join the artisans but before I could even join their ranks I was kidnap for sacrifice.
The fire leapt at my hands the makeshift torch I held getting closer and closer to going out. If I was going to do what I came here to do it had to be now. I ripped down the curtains to me left and in one fluid movement they were on fire and as I danced around the room lighting everything I could up before I finally saw all of the people staring at me.
I heard them screaming as the priests were ushering them out of the room. I had not come to kill and yet here I was if they did not get out safe than there would be blood on my hands. This was supposed to be a symbolic act of rebellion not an act of terrorism. Now that I think about it though it was definitely going to be terrorism no matter what. I still did not mean to kill anyone though.
Everyone was rushing out of the doors in the back, but I could not move. He was standing there at the end of my pew staring. I was frozen but so was he. His expression had shifted from one of anger to welling up with fear. Should I be more afraid of a fearful man with flames rippling around him than I was afraid of him when he was angry.
Than he turned and he looked at me. He was confused probably and I was definitely. He looked almost sorry like he was a terrorist so I do not want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he is standing here with his hand outstretched and it is getting really hot in here.
So I took his hand and ever so trepidatiously but definitely quickly followed him back through the giant doors he came in. They were heavy but through the smoke and heat and my watering eyes we got the doors open again.
I stood on the side of the street coughing, but honestly stood is generous I was hauled over wheezing wishing I just stayed in the fire and died. He was gone. I do not know why he saved me but he did and now he was gone and the smoke would never leave my lungs again.
They found me there wheezing. They took me home and had every doctor under the sun check me out. The baby was fine and I was fine. I was still coughing for weeks but that's what they told me that I was fine.
The church burnt but it did not burn down so it was up and running again soon. I never wanted to go back there again but I knew I would be back as soon as I was pregnant again.